


Tools

by Path



Series: Midnight City Stories [13]
Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-14
Updated: 2011-03-14
Packaged: 2017-10-16 23:25:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/170500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Path/pseuds/Path
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snowman and Doc Scratch have more in common than they'd like to believe.</p><p>= = =</p><p>Midnight City Stories</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tools

Doc Scratch has one of those faces you just can't hate.

Snowman has never seen him without a look of mild tolerance on his mug. That's it, she thinks. It's the look your father or older brother wears when they explain to you patiently how stupid you've been, but how they're about to give you a chance to correct yourself. It's not the sort of thing you can hate, even if it comes from a complete stranger.

And sadly, Scratch is nowhere near a complete stranger to Snowman.

As she leaves English's study, letting the door click shut behind her, he's waiting there, that same look on his face. She is extremely adept at hating. She practically taught it to Spades Slick, correctly hailed as the angriest man in Midnight City. He's incorrectly hailed as the most dangerous. Snowman fears only one person in the world, and so naturally, she spends her nights in his arms.

So she certainly doesn't fear Doc Scratch. She finds it curious, however, what a difficult time she has hating him. It's just not _worth_ it. Her hate slides off him without impacting. She's long since adopted a similar tactic to his- smug superiority, a hint of pity at the other's youthful foolishness. She can only pretend it's changed anything. The only effects it's had are a few less wasted barbs.

Hating Doc Scratch feels simply... ineffective. One hates disaster, not the winds blowing before it. One hates a tornado, not the butterfly weeks ago, a million miles away, fluttering its wings. No, that holds too much blame. Doc Scratch is not a cause. He doesn't do anything. Snowman is infuriated by him for the simple reason that he wants nothing.

He just is, and serves, and announces. They are nominally on the same side, she knows, but he is so busy being nothing to everyone that there can never be a connection between them, although they are the only two in English's entire organization who could be said to be of similar rank. This is because they are not truly within the organization itself.

Snowman lights her cigarette. Anyone else would have done it for her, but Scratch views her not as a lady, she knows, not as something to want or dislike or anything. To him, she supposes, she is of similar importance to that lamp, a cat on the street, a doorknob.

But she knows one thing, and she clings to that in the face of Scratch's passive disinterest in her.

"He says he's not going to see you today," she tells him without emotion.

"Yes, he did say that," says Scratch. He's leaning on the wall opposite, hands casually in the pockets of his immaculate suit jacket.

She inhales, enjoys, exhales, and smoke drifts into the room. She cannot tell for sure, but she suspects he dislikes it, given his usual obsession with cleanliness.

"Well, if he's not going to see me, perhaps I should be going," he says, and turns to leave.

She cuts him off before he can, a careless barb tossed to him. "It's been awhile, hasn't it?"

"Yes," he answers. "Sixteen days."

"I don't suppose he could be tiring of you."

"No, I don't suppose that."

"It's just that he's never gone without giving you orders for so long, has he?"

"No," says Scratch, his back still turned.

"Hm," she says, and filters her derision, her scorn, her superiority into the syllable. Spades Slick would have tried to kill her four sentences ago. Scratch is simply unmoved. "Well. I suppose we aren't so similar after all."

"I don't believe we ever were," Scratch answers. Getting information from him is excruciating unless he's actively trying to give it to you. But Snowman has learned; she no longer searches. She plants ideas, and she waits.

"I'll let you know if he wants you back," she says.

"I'll already know."

He's not leaving, and Snowman takes a chance. "Do you know what the difference between us is, Scratch?" she asks.

"Yes," he answers.

"It's that you are used. And I am wanted."

"Is that what you think?"

"Yes. He courts me. And you, he just uses. One doesn't need to make sure a hammer enjoys itself, just that it hits nails. Isn't that right?"

Scratch turns around. Snowman is actually surprised. She's never gotten even that much of a reaction out of him before. He walks over to her, casually, comfortably; Doc Scratch only ever strolls. He takes off one of his white gloves.

"I don't think you know very much about him," he says to her. "You're quite new at this, after all, so that's understandable." He reaches up, still smiling his meaningless half-smile, and pinches out the tip of her cigarette with his bare fingers. His expression falters not at all; he shakes the ash off his hand with one economical motion. "I understand the difference between requiring and desiring, my dear. I suggest you take a closer look so as not to miss any pertinent information." He slips his glove back on and buttons it.

Snowman's lips part as her jaw hangs open for a brief second. She recovers almost immediately. "You think you can talk down to me, you arrogant little terrier, you mean nothing to-"

The study door opens.

The two of them freeze.

"Darling," comes his voice. Snowman is by his side in a second. His hand is on her cheek. He smiles at her. "Would you mind keeping it down, please? I've got some important business to attend to."

She can never speak under his full attention. Snowman nods mutely.

"Scratch," he continues. "Good. Just the man I wanted to see." His hand leaves Snowman's face.

Scratch brushes by her as he follows English into his study. She can make out no trace of superiority, no hint of his ego. He is unflappable and passive as ever, wearing his face that no-one can hate.

And yet, as the door closes her out, Snowman begins to feel that she might be able to hate him all the same.

**Author's Note:**

> With the Doc Scratch updates came me remembering he existed and having to find a place to put him in Midnight City. I should rewrite with more HAA HAA HEE HEE HOO HOO.


End file.
